


At An Arm's Length

by FluffSugarButton



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, I didn't tag the work under F/F because I didn't want to disappoint Penny/Maru shippers, Insecurities, M/M, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smoking, So is Elliott/Leah, The relationship is only mentioned once, body image issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:34:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffSugarButton/pseuds/FluffSugarButton
Summary: Shane didn't want anything from his life. Callie just wanted to make money from a job that didn't crush her. Callie didn't want in on any of Shane's affairs; they just kind of unraveled before her.
Relationships: Sam/Sebastian (Stardew Valley), Shane/Female Player (Stardew Valley)
Kudos: 12





	1. What Are We? (The Thread)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> I've been working on this story for a while, on and off, among other Stardew ideas I've had. This is the one I'm most comfortable sharing so far. I have some (not many, really) chapters ready but I'd like to polish them some more, while in the meantime I think the rest of it through. As a result, this won't really update regularly, but it will get completed, hopefully. 
> 
> As much as I proof read those things, I am rather prone to errors and not a native English speaker. Don't be afraid to point out any mistakes you spot. This is my first time posting any sort of fanfiction online, so if you enjoyed it, let me know! Thank you for reading this!

At first, it was Leah and Elliot.

Then, it was Sam and Sebastian that tied the knot.

After them, Maru and Penny followed suit.

In Leah and Elliot’s wedding, Sam, snickering, pushed Sebastian into the crowd of single ladies when Leah wasn’t watching; Sebastian was almost boiling with rage when the plush bouquet of flowers landed into his arms. In the Valley, however, there was one more unique tradition, similar to the throwing of the bouquet, but for the bachelors; while the reception tables were being set up, the Mayor picked a spot reserved for a bachelor at the tables and left a single golden thread underneath his plate. Of course, the entire community was invited to the weddings, and most attended enthusiastically, so all bachelors had a chance to be chosen.

That year, it was Sam’s plate under which the edges of the thread were peeking out.

Next year Sam, then one of the grooms, joking about how well him insisting on the catching of the bouquet worked out for them, threw one to the single ladies; Penny caught it. A mixup with Maru and Harvey, who were sitting next to each other on the guest table, ended with the young scientist picking up the tiny piece of happiness.

At the girls’ wedding, Mayor Lewis was thinking whose plate the thread should be underneath when a soft, plush hand tapped him gently on the back.

“Please, Lewis… Place it under Shane’s plate.”

Lewis seemed hesitant.

“Maybe Harvey would be more-”

“Suitable than Shane? Oh Lewis, I thought you wouldn’t judge him like that.”

Lewis remained silent.

“Even if I do put the thread there, he might switch places with somebody.”

“The mixup last year happened because the bride-to-be had already caught the bouquet, and the thread wanted to let us know that she didn’t have to love a boy. But if, for whatever reason, Shane grabs the thread first, maybe the bouquet will fly to favor him.”

The old man sighed deeply.

“If you really think it has worked its magic… Just delay the bride. Say you want to join in or something, so Shane will have time to find it.”, he said. Shane was already one of the first in line to greet the newlyweds, all single girls far behind him. He’d most likely be at his table before the bouquet would be thrown.

“Wouldn’t think about joining in otherwise...”, said Marnie coyly. “But for Shane’s sake, I can make up a little white lie.”

They knowingly smiled at each other, and Lewis place the thread under Shane’s plate.

Shane did, in fact, went straight to sit at his table; beside him were Jas and Vincent. Jas noticed the golden thread first.

“Uncle Shane, uncle Shane!”

“What is it, Jas?”

“The thread! It’s here!”

Shane picked up his plate, and then the thread; he pinched it by its very edge, almost as if he feared a solid grip on it would maim him, and looked at it with a raised eyebrow and obvious disdain written all over his face.

“Buh… I won’t be getting married any time soon, Jas. Don’t you worry about that.”, he said, trying to ruffle her hair with his free hand, the other one still clinging on to the thread.

Shreaks were heard from a few feet away, followed by the sound of the bouquet landing on flesh.

“Callie! Callie’s got it!”

Callie looked a lot like Sebastian 2 years ago; like she had been forced into this, rather than seeking the flower trophy by herself.

Shane looked dumbstruck; he just stared at her until her eyes met his. Her face turned red, growing more and more uncomfortable by the moment, and hers wasn’t the only one; when the moms and bachelorettes saw who had won the thread, they looked as if they had to empathize with her on some sort of terrible fate -was it like that? Was it just how Shane perceived it? He wasn’t sure, but maybe a bit of both would make the most sense. Shane’s expression softened, but looked ever so slightly bitter.

* * *

The evening passed with people dancing and eating to their hearts’ content. Most people, at least.

Shane did get stuffed with food, but then alcohol started flowing at the table. _I could really use a cold one_ , he thought. He wouldn’t have one.

He got up without excusing himself -nobody noticed his absence at first- and walked a few feet away, sat down on a secluded bench next to a bush. He had kept the thread in his hoodie pocket, and looked at it, splayed over his clammy palm, when he heard a small voice from behind him.

“Do you mind company?”

He turned around, and sure enough, there she was, flowers in hand. He patted the space beside him. She sat down, and the first few moments were silent. He felt sober and strong enough to break the silence, to set the record straight; a rare occurrence.

“Just so you know, don’t feel like you have to uphold a tradition or a wedding streak or whatever.”

It felt like her heart grew claws and started ripping at the chest from the inside out.

“So you’re not interested...”, she muttered, strained.

“What, are you?”, he scoffed.

Callie looked at him straight in the eye. She was biting her lip to steady it, and was mostly successful. Her silence and the faint gloss on her eyeballs spoke tons to him. He exhaled loudly, to undo the little knot his lungs had formed at the saddened sight of her.

“I’m great with words and tone of voice, right?”

She was looking at her lap. Her eyes were damp now, but the tears weren’t streaming down her face. Her hands were clenching each other to the point were they’d turned completely white.

“I didn’t mean I wasn’t interested.”

She lifted her head and looked at him and, if possible, her face turned even redder. With her meek smile, she looked hopeful again. He felt so confused, that she felt hopeful at the prospect of being together with _him._ He was honored, but so, so confused.

“I said you shouldn’t feel pressured to do this.”

“Do what exactly, though?”

“I don’t know. Whatever includes having to deal with me for multiple hours a day, whether it be dating or being engaged or marrying or whatever it is that people do.”

“Then you also should feel zero pressure, if spending multiple hours with anyone, or me for that matter, isn’t your thing. I don’t like imposing myself on people...”

That last word had escaped with a tremble in her voice. She was trying her damnedest not to cry. Callie’s expression and body movements were stiff, always, Shane thought. Stiff when happy, stiff when angry, stiff when walking and when digging the soil and stiff with the farm animals and just the tiniest bit less stiff with her beloved cat, and him. Nobody could be fully stiff when sad. She didn’t want to lose control of herself; she felt like she had no right to be sad when Shane was present because that would be piling her problems on top of his, and that counted as imposing oneself in her book.

“Hey, now.”

He barely touched her shoulder that was next to him. He knew he sucked at consoling people, and he had no idea what her physical touch boundaries were, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, her hand reached out and patted his thigh, oh so lightly.

“Hey, now, yourself.”

A moment was spent in silence.

“What _are_ we, Shane? Like, what is our relationship status?”

“ _You_ need labels for everything, don’t you?”

“Yes. Labels and explanations and thinking over and over the same things.”

“Then you tell me; what _are_ we, Calliope?”

She was at a loss for a word for their current situation. But, she knew what they had been, at different points throughout their acquaintance.


	2. Strangers (The Cat)

_Two years ago…_

The first day farming hadn’t been easy, but had felt rewarding. A chunk of the overgrown fields had been tamed, a small patch of parsnips had been planted, and Callie, the new farmer, had showered, dressed, and was ready to mingle. Monday, however, was a pretty slow night at Pelican Town’s saloon. There was Pam, and Gus, Clint, Willy and Emily -who was just about the friendliest person there ever was. Callie had warmed up, socially; had the whole town been there, she would have gone up to all of them and chattered them up. But, when scanning the room, she only saw one person remaining.

Maybe it was how proud she felt for moving there; how relatively uneventful -in a good way- her day had been, how nice the few people she’d met so far had been to her -the shop keeper, the doctor, the mayor, the carpenter-, but she failed to notice that the remaining saloon patron didn’t seem like he wanted to be bothered.

“Hiya!”, she smiled. He very slowly looked up from his beer mug, one unkempt eyebrow slightly raised.

“I don’t know you. Why are you talking to me?”

Callie, still on the high of moderate success -or rather, decent avoidance of failure-, didn’t pay his words much attention.

“Well, let me get to know your name, and then we’ll talk. Name’s Callie.”

“Why are you bothering me? I want to be alone!”, said the man, voice growing loud but deep, beer glass slamming onto the counter. Everybody else turned around and stared; neither noticed.

Callie admitted defeat.

“Suit yourself.”she said, and she turned around quick on her heels.

That was their first meeting. Between the many opportunities she’d thought of when moving to the valley -opportunities to learn new things, to breath life into plants, to nurture animals, to explore new places, learn of new traditions, and meet new people-, she ended up not caring for one sour person, and remained positive about the rest of the community. However, socialization would be scarce on her new schedule.

There was one more problem. People that weren’t Shane were polite, sure; other than haughty Haley -that she’d rather not run into ever again, after being told that she _smells_ like farmer- , grumpy George – that she knew she’d get along with in no time, as her grandfather was sometimes like that-, and perhaps Alex -who was far too desperate to be hitting on her, she thought-, everyone else was very pleasant to talk to. But she was, as Alex called her, only _farmer girl_ -in fact _**new**_ _farmer girl_ _-_ to them _;_ she couldn’t help but feel like an attraction, so, after the initial round of introductions, it didn’t take long to decide to focus all her time and energy on work instead of the townsfolk.

In fact, she hadn’t really seen another living soul for days, putting in earnest efforts to chop up wood to bring to Robin to start that animal farm up -she felt like small amounts of seeds could only get her so far, so fast- until one Saturday morning, Shane’s aunt, Marnie had knocked at her door.

That morning was going to be the first one of many where she’d felt heartwarmed by the community, even if she wasn’t quite a puzzle piece of it yet.

For Shane, it was going to be just one of plentiful miserable days where he felt he lost a little piece of himself.

When Marnie found a stray kitten outside of her ranch, she put her best efforts with Jas to find its mother or its siblings, but to no avail. Since the kitten was by no means a new born, the only half logical explanation was that the cat had been abandoned by somebody that passed by Pelican Town on a bus, one of which had brought the new farmer to town. The cat and the woman showed up around the same time, too.

“I’m _allergic_ to cats.”, Shane grumbled. He was only pissed because the cat had been vocal during nighttime. His brain only got to shut up fully if he was asleep -that’s why he aimed for black out drunk each time-, but the stupid cat had stripped him of his last pleasure.

“I’m very much aware you aren’t, Shane.”, answered Marnie, having already given up at the thought of keeping the cat. She fed her, bathed her, and called her vet; the doctor from out-of-town agreed to bring some medicine for cats when he dropped to check up on one of her pregnant cows that had been looking unwell. Two days later, the vet determined the cat was old enough to get its first round of vaccines, and was therefore deemed safe for indoors living after giving it another bath with anti-mites medicine this time. Marnie had even determined who she’d first try to ask whether they’d be willing to adopt the adorable gray cat; the newcomer. She’d been curious over how the farmer looked but her mind always went out to people that lived alone; she knew she hated it, and her heart ached at the thought of a young woman all alone in the huge, untamed estate, even without knowing her. It might have had something to do with an… acquaintance of her also living alone, in a big manor.

That night ended badly for Shane. No night had ended otherwise in a long time, but it happened to be one of the days where his brain acted up a bit more than usual, so he drank a bit more than usual, so his body decided to act up _a lot more than usual_. He held his vomit long enough as to not to spew it all over Willow Lane, but he emptied his stomach’s contents up as soon as he entered the trail to the ranch. He didn’t feel better after throwing up. He drank a lot, it was the thing he was best at. He knew, next morning he’d feel miserable for being bad at the thing he was best at, for drinking and throwing up like some fucking lightweight; he’d feel miserable as if throwing up the beer was why he’d waken up sober enough to feel his mind forming coherent evil thoughts. His mind always formed evil thoughts, and they’d wait for him around the corner, when he was sober, when they could be coherent, and much, much scarier.

Avoiding to step into his own mess, he neared the front door, when a nocturnal four-pawed creature had slipped from between the fence, and started rubbing its head against his bare calf, purring. He looked down at the cat and remembered that at some point, somewhere, he’d heard that cats would purr when they’d pick up that a different cat -or human- were in pain, and how that applied to emotional distress, too. And how the cat, much like the chickens that he’d grown strangely attached to, wouldn’t judge him; it would just purr and try to fix him.

He felt himself soften. Yes, every farm animal species could pick up on his sadness. Humans just had a strange fixation with judging him every time he was like that. The cat didn’t have that.

He kneeled down and scratched under its chin; he knew Marnie had the cat stay at the barn to catch spare mice that could’ve hidden in the hay, but somebody had just seen him throw up and hadn’t given a single fuck. He wanted that somebody to stick around. It took all his mental strength to unlock the door and walk a straight line to his room with the cat in his arms, curled up on his chest. He put it down gently next to his bed, and collapsed on his mattress.

Next morning, Marnie found the cat in his arms. She tried her best not to wake him up at the dawn of day; she knew more than he did how much he needed to rest. Alas, he shuffled and looked straight at her, an awful stench evading his mouth, matching his still bloodshot eyes, his purple eyebags, and his ever-so-scruffy cheeks.

“Where’r’y’takin’him?”. He tried his best to speak coherently; he really did.

“I’m finding him a new home. I thought, after all, you were allergic.”, she said. Even though her words were sarcastic, her tone wasn’t; she was sad. She remained there, looking at him, trying to weigh whether he’d changed his mind on the matter.

In the split moment between her sentence and him scoffing and turning around to pass out again, he felt whatever was left of his heart sink deeper into the moving sand his internal turmoil was. He’d softened for a moment, for a split moment, and he took another blow from whatever his life was. It didn’t cross his mind to protest, to say “No, Marnie, it’s okay, the cat can stay.”, maybe because he felt that he couldn’t take care of the cat despite their independent nature, maybe because he felt as if trying something new, even if it was an acquaintance with a cat, was pointless anyways, and that he should stick inside his shell, or maybe it was the fact that if he kept the cat he’d have to stick around for 15 or maybe even 20 years and that he didn’t plan on keeping his blood pump beating for that long.

So he just scoffed, and turned around, and passed out again.

Callie, on the other hand, could not for the life of her sleep in. At this time of the day, she was completely on her own, uninterrupted to create her little haven, slowly but surely. It was certainly a surprise to see another living soul up so early and on her porch.

The short, stout woman in front of her was pretty; thick braided hair, big round brown eyes with equally thick eyelashes, full round rosy cheeks and lips. She wouldn’t have guessed, if not for her well worked hands scratching the cat’s ears, that she was the rancher.

“Good morning.”, greeted Callie, a bit cautiously.

“Good morning, Ms. Callie! Is it okay if I call you that? I’m sorry, Lewis told me of your name.”

“It’s fine. No need for the honorific either.”

“My name’s Marnie. I sell livestock and animal care products at my ranch. You should swing by sometime!”

She extended her arm for a handshake, cat in one arm now. Callie accepted it and was displeased to find out just how strong Marnie’s grip was. After the initial shock of pain on her admittedly still delicate hand, she smiled a bit, internally; if this was a taste of how she’d be in a few years she was starting to like the intensity of her labor even more.

“Very nice to meet you.”

“Nice to finally meet you too. So, this little boy is looking for a home.”

Callie laid eyes on the little gray cat. He had beautiful yellowish eyes, striking against his fur. He was still small statured, but not as energetic as she’d think of a ‘teenage’ cat, basically. She unconsciously stretched her arms to take him and Marnie complied, without a word spoken between the two.

“I can understand how this sounds. I don’t really know whether you like animals, but I found him without siblings or mama cat. I guessed somebody abandoned him here, perhaps somebody on a bus that stopped. My vet did his first round of shots and next time he comes from the city to check in on my animals he’ll be doing the rest, so anything to do with his health, I can help with. But I can’t keep him… And I thought that you must be quite lonely on this large estate.”

She was. She was lonely at night, when work seized. She was used to working alone but always having somebody home when she came back. The television worked non stop from sunset to sunrise. She swallowed hard to prevent a sob from forming.

“I’d love him for company. Thank you for taking care of him and for thinking of me.”

“Don’t mention it. Here’s some cat food the vet left me. When it’s nearly empty, call me and I’ll order some more. Have fun, you two.”, she said as she scratched the cat behind its ears one last time.

“Would you like to come in for a beverage?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, dear. Maybe another time. Or, drop by the saloon! I’m there most nights and could use some company.”

“I’ll take you up on that offer sometime. Goodbye, and again, thank you.”

“Bye!”

She looked at the cat in her arms and the cat rubbed its head on her chest and started purring.

“Welcome home, buddy.”

Many hours later, Shane emerged from his room, in what Marnie could say was his most miserable state… _yet._ Every time she thought of that, the next day he’d surprise her, just a little bit worse, just a little bit more worn down.

“Good afternoon, Shane.”

He couldn’t even grumble in response; his throat felt that much worn down.

Jas entered the room, still sniffling.

“Sweetheart, we talked about this before I gave him away! He’s fine, in good hands!”, Marnie told Jas for what must have been the hundredth time.

“It’s h-harder now t-that he’s gone… He was so sweet… Always purring and rubbing his head on me!”, a sob escaped her lips again. “Why couldn’t we keep him?”

Shane bit the inside of his cheeks. He didn’t think how quickly Jas could get attached to any animal. He didn’t think that Jas would miss the cat. He didn’t think of Jas.

Marnie gave him the side eye, and ushered Jas away. He didn’t listen to what they were saying. He went back to his room and cracked a can open, on an empty stomach and a dry mouth; pieces of shit like him didn’t deserve food or water. It didn’t take long until he passed out again, without the cat purring against him.

He was disgusting.


	3. Prying eyes of a prying stranger (The watering can)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farmer's watering can breaks down, and she's faced with familiar situations that she had succeded at locking deep inside her brain away from her consciousness.

It was a matter of time, really. Old man Nicholas’ tools were older than his granddaughter, but she didn’t know that, and she obviously didn’t plan for new ones before she moved to the valley.

It was about when she was finished watering a quarter of her crops that she realized her right trouser leg was soaked. No backup watering can was available, and she positively knew that Pierre didn’t carry such tools and that she couldn’t afford dropping off her watering can to Clint’s before watering the rest of the crops. Panicked, she pushed onto the crack near the bottom of the can with her palm to stop the water from leaking, but the new position offered her zero leverage to water the plants with a controlled flow. She had to think, and had to do so quickly; who was the nearest person that would have a can to lend her that she knew of?

Marnie.

Huffing and puffing after briskly walking the distance, and with her palm damp from the leakage, she walked into the ranch, and realized just how dumb -panicked, really- she was for carrying the broken can only to ask for a replacement. As if people here would ask for proof of the broken can to lend her a new one.

Marnie was nowhere to be seen.

“Marnie? Are you in here?”

She received no response. She reluctantly headed into the kitchen, can still in hand, and noticed a door that was slightly ajar. Behind it the rancher’s red and green dress was visible. She entered, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight she was faced with.

Marnie’s face was drenched in despair. Deep lines of worry had etched themselves on her forehead and on the bridge of her nose, while pleading eyes met Callie’s own confused ones, and darted between her and the floor. She followed her gaze, and the rude man she had the displeasure of approaching last time at the saloon was splayed over the floor, cold out, cans of beer surrounding him and a trail of saliva evading his open mouth.

Callie was shaken; her brain needed time to process what she was facing. Images from the past that she had forgotten were still living in her mind flashed before her eyes; the picture in her head and the one before her nearly merged. Marnie grabbed her by the arm and shook her; that brought her back to reality, but only just.

“Callie, do something, please! He’s out cold!”

Callie’s brain short circuited. Even despite being faced with this before, she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t have known back then, and she hadn’t given it any thought ever since. Her arms only instinctively emptied the leaking can’s contents on Shane’s head. He jolted awake, and hissed loudly at the sensation of the cold water against his overheated scalp. Callie’s already pounding heart started pounding harder over the sound of Marnie’s shouting voice, etched with concern, and the green eyes -so bloodshot she didn’t know was possible- that were looking straight into her own. Things were blurred; she was only vaguely making out the dialog between them.

“What’s the matter with you? All you do anymore is mope around your room and drink beer.”

Shane avoided their eyes; both their gazes. The prying eyes of his prying aunt and the prying stranger. How had she even ended up there, with the can in her hand? What gave her the audacity to empty the can on him? His aunt’s gaze and his met. The matter with him was the same as always.

“You wouldn’t understand.”, said Shane, attempting his damndest to sound composed and like he didn’t care about the scolding and the stranger in his room. The slurring gave him away; that, and the tiny sob in the back of his throat.

A shaky sigh escaped Marnie’s lips.

“Oh, I’m worried, I’m so worried.”

Marnie wasn’t talking directly to Callie; she was just in such distress she hadn’t really registered who it was with the can. She wouldn’t have let her in if she had the tiniest grasp on the situation.

Small, rushed steps reached their ears. Callie was the first to notice the girl in a pink dress. That snapped her out of it. She’d once been in the girl’s position. She thought of shooing her hesitant form -holding on to the frame of the door because of the strange presence in the room- completely away; she thought that she wanted to be shooed away back then. But then she thought that she always asked what the matter was, until she was let in.

“What’s your plan, Shane? Don’t you ever think about the future?”

“Plan?”

Callie winced. She felt it; she felt it from the snarl of his lips, from the rasp of his voice; something bad was about to be spoken. Her ears felt blocked, because sounds of another person’s voice with no filter, all inhibitions lowered because of alcohol, tried to enter her thoughts. If Shane hadn’t shouted that loudly, equal parts desperate and angry, she wouldn’t have heard him; she’d be listening to man speaking inside her head.

“Hopefully, I won’t be around long enough to ‘need’ a plan!”.

She felt sick, and dizzy. Stumbling, she turned around to the door, where the utter look of horror on the little girl’s face made her heart pound so much that she felt it in her head, so much so that her chest hurt. It hurt even more when the girl started sobbing, messily wiping away tears with the back of her small wrists, tripping over feet that had started going wobblier than the farmer’s.

Shane hadn’t heard her come closer, and neither had Marnie. He didn’t see the look on her face. Her wails were the most awful sound in the world to him. The stranger’s prying eyes didn’t pry on him anymore. He didn’t meet his aunt’s eyes; he didn’t have neither the audacity nor the courage to do so. He raked his nails through his unkempt hair, the sob coming undone.

“Jas… I’m so sorry, Jas!”

His aunt exited the room slowly. She didn’t have the courage to run after Jas. She didn’t know what to say to make it right.

Callie watched the middle aged woman sit on her front desk, head between her hands, as if awaiting for sobs to erupt, but nothing came out. What to do? Leave? Stay? It all felt rude. She had seen too much, and even if it wasn’t intentional, she still felt scandalously indiscreet. She just stood there, until Marnie looked up a few moments later, and their eyes met. What to say? “I’m sorry”? Sorry for what? For intruding? For what happened? No, not the last one; what if Marnie felt pitied upon?

“I’m sorry… My watering can...”

Marnie shook her head, trying to shake off her puzzled look.

“Oh, sweetheart, I can help you with that.”

“No, no, don’t mention it. I’m sorry for being a bother.”

“If only people stopped feeling like they were being bothers around here...” If she didn’t sound so tired, maybe she would have sounded angry, bitter; but she just sounded tired.

“Wait here.”, she added.

Even without nearing the kitchen, and the room behind it, Callie could hear his anguished wailing, his over-abused throat. One part of her felt disdain, because he hurt the girl. One part of her hurt for him. She couldn’t decide whether it was appropriate to feel sympathy for both of them, as she hadn’t been able to decide many years back, whether she should sympathize with the person who caused her pain.

Marnie appeared with a plastic, green watering can.

“Should fit around the same amount of water your can used to.”, she said, her face in a grimace close to but not quite the same as a smile.

“Thank you very, very much. I...”

“Don’t thank me. We are very sorry.”

Callie headed to the door, but turned around before exiting.

“I hope you will all be alright.”

Marnie held the weak sob until Callie left the room.

Callie was astonished by the intensity of the gaze of Jas’ eyes, now dried up. The little girl in front of her was nothing short of beautiful; tan skin, purple-black thick hair, facial features of a porcelain doll with the expression and perceptive gaze of a much older person.

“Are you alright?”, Callie was the first to break the silence.

“No.”

Callie didn’t know with what to follow up. It was astonishing, really, how much she felt like she was looking at a far prettier mirror of herself, and after all these years, she still didn’t know what she’d say to her former self when faced with a similar situation, let alone a complete stranger child.

She settled on asking her, “Do you want company?”. After all, none of her guardians were in a state to comfort her.

“...I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

She felt a bit like an idiot for asking in the first place. Nevertheless, she didn’t say no. She needed to find someone to ‘be the adult’ in the situation. She couldn’t be. She knew it wasn’t her place to be, but part of her wished she could just have the ability to do it, as if that meant she’d came out unscathed or wiser.

“Would you like me to walk you some place? Your friend’s house, perhaps?”

She didn’t know the boy’s name. She’d only spoken to his brother before. She thought of the teacher, but her mother could be twice as shitfaced as Jas’ uncle and give no fucks. Shane was, oddly enough, the discreet drunk.

The nod of the girl was so reluctant, her hair bow moved more than her jaw. Callie almost smiled at that. It was a cute bow. Offer her a hand, or not? She was old, maybe she’d think of it as patronizing. But would she feel comforted through physical touch? No. Overstepping a boundary. Jas’ hand wasn’t her kid self’s hand. She started taking small steps, and Jas followed with long strides. The two ended up being side by side. The walk was dead silent.

She rung Jodi’s doorbell, and she opened the door. The older woman couldn’t help quirking an eyebrow.

“Why, if it isn’t farmer Callie!”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Jodi!”, Jas voice was a lot more chipper. The older woman hadn’t seen the girl, who was hiding behind Callie’s legs. Her eyebrows raised, then furrowed together. Callie noticed that; it couldn’t have been the first time Jas needed a distraction from her family life, of course.

“Come inside, girls.”

Jas thanked Jodi and routinely went to Vincent’s room.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“That won’t be necessary. I just happened to visit the ranch on a particularly bad moment.”

“Oh, sweetheart… You didn’t know, did you?”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

Jodi’s expression was compassionate; a bit pitying, too.

“Anyways, it looked bad. I just tried to think of someone who could be there for her , someone familiar. I don’t think either Marnie or that guy can do it at the moment. I considered her teacher but then Pam could be worse than… What’s his name?”

“Shane.”

“Shane. So, here I am. Sorry for the intrusion.”

“Honey, this isn’t the first time she’s come here for a similar reason. She won’t speak to me… But she speaks to Vincent. He doesn’t get it, so he comes and ask me to explain it to him.”

“So, she witnesses fights like this all the time?”

The question escaped her. She didn’t intend to ask it, but her mind knew better than she did that she’d wonder the entire day -or week, even- if she didn’t know the answer. She detested curiosity, but it felt like not being able to look away from a car crash.

“They’re usually discreet about it, from what I understand. Vincent usually starts with ‘Mom, Jas heard her uncle and aunt whispering about this and that.’, not ‘Mom, Jas saw them fighting.’”

“I see."

Jodi took great pity on her. She knew Jas’ situation, and she did what she could to alleviate some of the consequences of that. But the farmer hadn’t been given so much as a head’s up. Jodi thought that Callie was shocked because she’d never seen something familiar; a hurdle she’d have to jump over on her coming-of-age journey. She thought wrong.

“You look like you could use some water.”

Callie stood up and smiled; a slightly tired and weary one, but a full smile nevertheless.

“No, but thank you very much for the offer. I must get back to watering my plants. My damn can… It broke.”, she chuckled, not bitterly, as if she was just chatting with a neighbor on a normal day.

“You went to ask for a replacement?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t have large tools or anything, but in a pinch, know that I can usually lend you a temporary replacement. Just so you won’t have to risk anything. I dabble in gardening in my free time. Caroline might have some better tools herself; don’t be afraid to ask around.”

“I appreciate this a ton. Thank you.”

Jodi thought that the transition between her body language and tone of voice when she walked in and her current one was far too soon, far too quick.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit down a bit more?”

“I’m dandy, really.”

She wasn’t convinced, but she had to hand it to the farmer, that was the closest to convinced a young adult had gotten her to be. Callie was out the door after a moment, much more vivacious in her gestures, louder in her speech, all smiles and pleasantries.

Around the time Jas and Callie were outside 1 Willow Lane’s entrance, Shane had ceased crying in big sobs and was desperately trying to catch his breath, and having increasing difficulty doing so. Dizzy, wobbly, and panting for breath, he held onto Marnie’s shop counter. She just looked at him, vision fully blank.

“Where… where is she?”

Marnie shrugged, robotically. Her ankles weighed a ton at the thought of leaving the chair to look for her. She felt so tired that she trusted Jas on her own; an unusual occurrence.

“What do you mean you don’t know? Isn’t she in her room?”

“I couldn’t run after her.”

“She could be… fuck, she could be in danger.”

“She’s either under the large cherry tree, or at Vincent’s. She’s so predictable, thank Yoba above.”

It irritated Shane beyond comprehension how dull her voice sounded.

“You don’t know, still!”

It’s like he saw it through her eyes, her last thread of patience snapping. Her expression morphed in a second, and he took a step back. He still flinched when she opened her mouth to shout at him.

“I am _not_ the one driving her away!”

His eyes teared up and watered his cheeks involuntarily. She was right, oh hell, she was.

“I’m going to Jodi’s.”

“You are going nowhere.”

She picked up the phone and dialed a number. With a mellowed out tone, she spoke.

“Hello, Jodi. Is Jas there? Oh, oh lovely. Who? The farmer? Oh, I see. I’ll be picking her up soon… Are you sure she’s not bothering you? Okay, then tell her she can have lunch there and I’ll be back for her in a couple of hours. Thank you, Jodi.”

“What about the farmer?”, Shane grumbled.

“Oh, you’re not taking focus away from yourself, not again. Forget about the farmer, and listen well. When you first came here, you were a casual drinker. I didn’t take you in for Jas’ sake exclusively; you’re my only nephew and I thought it was only natural to pitch in to help you when suddenly you had a child to take care of and no plan in life. I thought the drinking was you grieving, rightfully so. I thought it made you functional when you couldn’t do it yourself. But you’re not grieving anymore. Not her parents, anyways. You’re not grieving being nearly homeless, or unemployed. You have sturdy soil under your feet. What is it that you’re missing?”

“You know what I hate? The fact that because I’m living less crappily than I did a few years ago, I’m supposed to be shitting confetti out of my ass. There’s more to life than housing and employment.”

“These two can offer you the backbone to fix anything else. Why don’t you decide what it is that you so crave to fix, first?”

“Because I _can’t_. Have you ever had a dream crushed so much to the ground that it’s impossible to give it another shot? Have _you_ ever been so crushed?”

“For someone that’s supposedly given up, you’re still clinging on to bygones as if your worth and your life depend on it.”

“It hurts when the bygones was all I ever was!”

It also hurt calling whatever little younger Shane had achieved bygone. He always silently crucified himself over it, but he never vocalized it, or wrote it down, that whatever fragments of success he got are _gone_.

“You _weren’t_ that-”

“I grew up being told I was the things I did. I hate the things I do now, and I hate myself even more regardless of it, ‘cause I threw away the things I was good at; I killed any good I had left in me, because I was a bad seed from the start.”

“But I’ve told you, over and over again that-”

“That what? That what I’ve been told ain’t true? Why would I believe it? Why do you even let me stay here anymore, in the first place, since my drinking bothers you? Would you, if it weren’t for Jas?”

“People can just love people, you know?”

He didn’t.

“You’re my only nephew. I love you. It kills me inside every time I tell you that I got your back and you just scoff. If I could, I would also take on all of Jas’ responsibilites, but there’s one thing I’m not; you. She loves _you._ She wants you to be in her life, and most of all she wants you to be at your best, as I do.”

“She’s too young to-”

“She’s not too young. She’s incredibly aware of her surroundings, as all children are. She just loves you. I just love you. I believe in the good in you, but Yoba help me, I can’t witness this anymore. I can’t see you in a state of such disarray one more time. And at all costs, she must _never_ see you like that again. _Ever_. Forget what’s happened. Screw the bygones. Be better from now on. For her, _and_ for you.”

He started sobbing again. Good words honestly pained him; they sounded so extremely foreign. Marnie hugged him, and he hugged her back like he was a little kid; his fingers curled around the fabric on the back of her dress. Whispered, choked apologies and expressions of gratitude escaped his mouth but Marnie refused to let them truly reach her ears. Tension was decompressed, but it was only a matter of time until it rebuilt itself, bit by bit.

Oh, how she dreaded it.

They had both shouted and cried so much that they spent the next 2 hours in silence. She gave him a glass of water in silence, refilled it in silence. He showered and shaved and put his clothes away and picked new ones in silence. She cooked them both a hearty casserole in silence. They ate in silence. He only spoke to announce his departure.

“I’m going to pick her up.”

“Ok, Shane.”

“Might take her to the playground.”

Marnie turned around to look at him. He looked his most sobered in days; pained, but sober. She assumed it must be a whole different plane of existence for him, sobriety; a painful one, that’s why he didn’t upkeep it. He had such an expressive face when he had control of it, with silent determination across his bushy brows and focused eyes. Her heart ached. She hoped to see that look for all the days to come.

“Take your raincoats with you. It’s drizzling outside.”

His was blue and cheap; hers was red and good quality, expensive for something she’d outgrow eventually. He never saw it that way. It was the last thing he’d bought for her, over a year ago. He tried to clear his mind on the way there; every two seconds, a new thought about how much he’d hurt her, how little he’d done for her, how little time he had spent with her tried to torment him, but he was as determined as he could be to give her his best smile, no matter how weak that was compared to hers.

When he knocked on Jodi’s door, he almost felt at peace of mind. That is, of course, until he was met with the stink eye Jodi gave him.

“Good afternoon, Shane.”, she stretched his name a tad too venomously for his liking. She wasn’t wrong to do so in his book. He’d take it.

“Hi. I came to pick up Jas. Is she ready to go?”

“Let me ask her if she’d like to come. She can stay more, if y’all would like to. She can stay the night, even.”

“That won’t be necessary. Of course, if she wants to, and it’s fine by you, she can. But I’m here for her, if she wants to come.”

“Uncle Shane?”

She was hesitant. She wasn’t hiding, she just wouldn’t really step forward.

“Hey, kiddo. Came to see what you’re up to.”

“Jas, would you like to play some more with Vincent, or go home?”

She looked at Vincent, and then Shane. She noticed he looked different, fresher. She felt like she saw him a bit back in time. She looked at Vincent again.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Vincent.”

“Bye, Jas.”

Jas walked slowly but confidently to Shane.

“Thank you for letting her stay.”

“This is always a safe space for Jas.”, Jodi replied.

Shane nodded, and Jodi closed the door.

He looked at her. Her big eyes looked at him expectantly -expecting what of him? He’d better figure it out, and give it to her.

He knelt down so they’d be the same height.

“I’m sorry, Jas.”, his voice was much calmer this time round.

“What happened, uncle Shane?”

“I don’t know, Jas. It hasn’t really been fun for me, life.”

“Are you tired of us?”

“No. No matter what happens, no matter how much bad stuff I get thrown my way, you and Marnie are the best stuff in my life. Never thought otherwise of you two.”

“Then why?”

“When I figure it out myself, I’ll tell you. One day. One day, but not right now.”

“I’m not dumb, Uncle Shane.”, she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, tapping her foot on the floor in feigned, dramatic annoyance. He chuckled; she knew when her dramatics could be entertaining.

“You’re not dumb. Heck, I think you’re the smartest person I know.”

Jas smiled contently. She hugged him, and he hugged her back tight, ruffling her hair in the process. He didn’t deserve her, and she didn’t deserve him. But he was going to try his damnedest, once more, to live up to the occasion.

The sound of a fishing pole reeling in a fish angrily snapped Shane out of the hug. It was humiliating enough that Jodi and Penny had to know about his fuck ups and do occasional damage control; he hoped no one else had overheard his conversation with Jas, as vague as it actually was. His neck snapped to his left, only to see the farmer unhooking a chunky catfish and throwing it in the bucket she had a few steps behind her. She raised her eyes, and they met his.

Buh. It was the second time the farmer had intruded his personal mess of a life in the same day. She knew too much. He hated that. He knew she’d been present in his vulnerable moments purely by coincidence and yet something still itched his throat to shout at her to mind her own fucking business, to go fishing elsewhere, even though he and Jas were leaving, to ask her what the fuck she had been doing at the ranch earlier that day.

But then, he saw the look in her eyes. She didn’t blink for a bit; she just looked at him, while her shoulders progressively crouched. He thought she was trembling the tiniest bit; he wanted to brush it off, say it was the chill of the rain that made her shake, but a voice in his head thought otherwise. She lowered her gaze completely after another moment, grabbed the bucket and her fishing pole hurriedly, with clumsy hands, and left in quick, rushed steps, her feet slipping a bit funnily against the pebbled floor of Willow Lane. He shook his head; they’d reached a mutual agreement never to speak of this, it seemed, and they did so non-verbally. He was glad. It didn’t matter why she left, anyways. It didn’t.

She went to the ocean docks. She sat down, her legs dangling off the edge. She held the pole in her hands, but she didn’t cast it. She just stared absentmindedly at the horizon, harsher droplets of rain whipping at her cheeks. If only the stupid rain had done its miracle faster, she wouldn’t have had to use the broken can, she wouldn’t have had to see a fragment of a life in shambles and she wouldn’t have had to face her past in the form of a little girl with a bow. If only she had decided to seek materials in the mines instead of a quick buck from fishing she wouldn’t have heard what in her experience was promises so heartfelt but so empty, as judged by their eventual outcomes. The sound of the waves was not loud enough to muffle Jas’ and Shane’s wails inside her head, and the image of the horizon wasn’t awe inducing enough to erase images of another man in such a state of disarray, not all that long ago. At least the wind blew in the opposite direction of Elliott’s and Willy’s houses; that way, no one could hear her cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Season's greetings to all!
> 
> I am very sorry for the great pause between chapters, but as I said, my schedule will often not allow me to update as frequently as I wish to. Still, I am not abandoning this, no matter how long it might take me to finish it! 
> 
> I always thought Shane's two heart event was very intimate for an event that takes place even before he starts speaking to the farmer less agressively. I think it still makes sense in the game (and it is one of my favorite cutscenes), but since I wish to add some more dialogue related to Shane's and Callie's circumstances in that one, I took the liberty of writing his four heart event earlier into my story. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter, and thank you very much for reading my story! Stay safe!


	4. You looked a little too familiar (Shane, the jock)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More memories come to disrupt Callie's peace of mind. This time, Shane is also affected by the past.

Callie took a good hard look at her brand new coop, before letting her forehead slump with a thud against its wall. She’d made the decision for the purchase consciously, knowing the quick to grow chickens would change her daily income soon enough. Of course, she hadn’t thought hard enough of the fact that she didn’t feel comfortable just dropping by Marnie’s anymore. Another good hard look at the receipt from the carpenter got her to start walking to the south, but with the feeling of dread at the thought of encountering a scene from a continuous situation, the type the journalists called ‘family tragedies’, never leaving her.

When she entered, the cashier was unattended.

“Who is it?”, a voice came from the room to the right. She daren’t walk to that direction again, but was nevertheless relieved that the voice was Marnie’s.

“It’s Callie! I was wondering if you had a moment to talk chickens?”

“I need to watch the stew for a bit longer! Be there in a second.”

“Take your time!”

Callie looked around, feeling as if there was a ticking timer until she’d meet face to face with any of the other inhabitants of the ranch. She distracted herself studying the colors and the décor -very homely, she thought- and the pictures behind the cashier.

The largest frame on the wall had three women that looked like the same person at different ages. A child, around the age of 5, a teenager, and a young adult, in her mid twenties. Three women with Marnie’s face, but Callie had no idea which one Marnie _actually_ was. She smiled, relaxing for a bit.

Next to that picture there was a smaller frame with Jas playing with her toys on the floor as a toddler. She had just grown taller; her face looked exactly the same, she was even wearing the same hair bow, then oversized. Above the two frames hung two wedding photos, with the happy couples kissing. She still couldn’t discern whether Marnie was any of the two brides.

By the time her gaze reached the last frame, she had forgotten any of her previous dread. The last picture was one of a young man.

She froze for a second, and then shook her head.

 _Nah, it couldn’t be_.

She moved as close to the picture as the counter allowed her to. She grimaced with dismay. She knew the man, from a summer a good long while ago, or so it felt. The jock, before Alex was Pelican Town’s jock.

_Shane, the jock._

She stepped back from the counter, now shoulders stiff, lips whispering ‘No’ over and over again. The man in the picture could not be the same man living with Marnie. Of course, countless cousins have the same first name because of a shared grandfather -something which she found idiotic, but desperately hoped was the case. Yes, that was it. It simply wasn’t the same person. Shane, the jock, was well spoken -not overly polite, like Elliott; he was honest, but not tactless- and in a good mood, usually. Shane, the jock, was confident in his posture and stride. Shane, the jock, didn’t tell her to fuck off. He hung out with her at the docks or literally wherever around Pelican Town and listened to cool music with her. She’d never even see him touching alcohol; he seemed to avoid it with a passion.

“Sorry to be late, sweetie.”

She jumped to the sound of Marnie’s voice. The older woman was wiping her hands on a towel.

“Did I scare you?”, Marnie asked, concerned. Callie would feel shame if she could have seen how scared she looked like at that moment. She swallowed and made a quick decision to loosen up.

“I was just looking at this frame, trying to figure out which one was you.”, she pointed to the larger frame.

Marnie’s faced dropped all signs of cautiousness and she smiled. _Smooth_ , Callie thought to herself.

“I’m the one in the middle, the teenage lookin’.”

“So those must be your sisters, then? You look so much alike!”

Marnie giggled. Callie tried to focus on how nice her laugh sounded.

“Thank you, sweetheart! This is my older sister, Melissa, and this is the youngest, Matilda, may Yoba rest her soul. She was Jas’ mom, and that ”, she pointed back to the older woman, “ is Shane’s mom.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry for your loss.”, Callie mustered to say. Normally she would have thought how endearing it was that Marnie had started calling her ‘sweetheart’, or she would have asked her to show and tell with the other photos -she loved when people showed family albums and told stories over them-, but at that moment the only thing she could focus on was how nonchalantly she spoke of Shane, as if there was indeed only one of them in that family, as if it had always been the same person.

Marnie didn’t go on with the other frames. She just took Callie to her own coop, showed her the basics of stacking hay around for the chicks to feel comfortable and how to clean their mess without scraping the floor too badly. Then, she picked up four chicks, put them in a comfortable box, and gave a ready printed sheet with instructions to Callie. She thanked her, and she made her way to the entrance.

The door opened from the other side, and in came Shane. Shane, the town drunk.

He looked at her briefly, a look of disgust and disinterest on his face. It wasn’t directed at her; it was the expression etched on his face most days, but she didn’t know that’s how it went. She looked down, feigning nonchalance, faking that she looked at the crate to make sure the chicks were doing fine, as she moved to the side for him to enter. He didn’t notice her shock when she met him at the door and he didn’t notice her gaze avoiding him; such a reaction was the norm for him.

She exited behind him, her ears catching two more sentences before the door shut fully behind her.

“I got Jas’ cereal.”

“Thank you, Shane.”

Her pulse skyrocketed the moment he said the word ‘cereal’. Shane, the town drunk, couldn’t properly pronounce ‘r’. He wasn’t slurring; he was sober. She knew, because his hands were shaking; her own alcoholic relative had very stable hands when drunk, and always jittery palms when not, from withdrawal. Shane, the jock, also couldn’t quite say ‘r’. The way he said it was similar to a British ‘r’, but not quite like one. It was between a slight movement of his tongue and a soft larynx sound.

It was him. _Damn it, it was him._

A surge of adrenaline surged through her body; she clenched the basket with the chicks in her hand and she started walking faster than just briskly, as if she could sweat off her revelation. A thought crossed her mind, one she would call a selfish one when she’d calmed down. Had he not recognized her? She felt like she hadn’t changed all that much since the last time they’d seen each other. Maybe the hair length, and the hair color, but the mannerisms she felt were the same. If she went up to him, what would he say? That he didn’t remember her, or that he did, but he didn’t want to associate with her because he had grown up since then?

The reality was more complicated than that; even if Shane had recognized her, he’d avoid talking to her not only because he wanted to forget his younger self, but because he would feel that he would fuck up the first greeting and impression after many years, and that would wreck him one tiny bit more than what he could handle.

She followed the instruction sheet for the chickens to a Τ, but halfheartedly. The little chicks chirping around did very little to cheer her up, as adorable as she found them. She contemplated on what other productive thing to do, but she didn’t really have it in her to go to the mines where she’d have to be aware of her surroundings, or do anything, really. She was upset, plain and simple. She went back home, showered, her mind buzzing constantly with ache and worry but not with concrete thoughts on the situation. As she entered the main room of her cabin, she spotted a small pile of notebooks on her humble bookcase. She shook her head, and went to pull clothes out of her suitcase -she didn’t have a closet or drawers yet- to get dressed for lunch at the saloon. She put on makeup quickly, grabbed her wallet, and her keys, and went to exit the house, before taking one more glance at the pile of notebooks.

She turned around, and did a guess on which notebook was the one that contained what would help pick at the scab more. The opening entry went as follows.

“ _I came to Grandpa’s today. Being in campus made me anxious, so I went back home to study. Studying on my home desk made me even more anxious, so I came here. I was shaking when Grandpa hugged me. The peacefulness of the farm felt fake, as if I’d hear the bell ring and I’d be due to write another exam. My mind instantly went to how I'd have to take another sleeping pill if I still felt like that by nighttime._

_I don’t speak to jocks on campus; I avoid them like the plague. I suck, ‘cause I feel like jocks are either Kevin from Daria or the douche on those b-rate American teen dramas. I know my sentiment is condescending and prejudiced but I could not be arsed to change it._

_How are the two paragraphs connected, you think, future me?_

_Grandpa finished up work early on the farm and dragged me over to the saloon, to ‘forget my troubles’. I think he underestimates how much socialization can add to them, sometimes. In any case, I was willing to give it a shot. We went there, and after a round of introductions to his older friends, I was met with a sight I thought was out of the sphere of reality. A jock, reading a book. He sat by himself, next to the fireplace, unbothered by the ruckus, as if in some cafeteria in the city. Grandpa introduced me to him, ‘the only person near your age’, he called him._

_Apparently, his name is Shane. Shane, the jock. I called him that and he asked me why. He was wearing his uniform outside training grounds, so obviously being a jock is important to him, and_ s _o, the title stays. He’s odd for a jock. He has a fringe that if it were a little longer would make him look emo -not that I would ever complain about that. He was wearing makeup; eyeliner, and lipstick, and he has painted fingernails -not that I would ever complain about those things- and half a brain cell -hell, probably more than that. He was reading Harry Potter; did you know the 6 th book is out? He’s wrapping it up tonight, and said he’s lending me the book tomorrow. _

_When Grandpa started getting a bit tipsy with his buddies, he offered to walk with me. He made me feel comfortable, so I took him up on that offer. He took me to the old playground and community center -nice places; beautifully desolate, if that makes sense. We talked over the trivial stuff; our majors -he is a Physical Education major, wouldn’t tell me what year he’s in, though-, our hobbies, what books we read. He must have been bored out of his mind in that place to ask to accompany me anywhere. Oh well, it doesn’t matter. It does make me curious to see whether there are other kids our age. If so, why would the jock hang out with whatever stupid stereotype I fall into? Grandpa said he’s the only one near my age but he seems a bit older._

_Me? I’m just glad I’m yawning right now. I’m tired of sleeping pills. I’m not shaking anymore. Thanks, Shane, the jock.”_

She closed the little notebook before she could go on to read further. The more she remembered the young man’s face, the more she wondered how she could have missed it was him and simultaneously, how inexplicably different his expressions and the way he carried himself was. His resting face especially was horrifyingly different. His lips were etched into a half snarl; one corner down, philtrum up in a twist. The tone of his voice was similar to a bark, even though he spoke barely opening his mouth. When they were young he’d speak clearly but softly; he’d speak unafraid, or it seemed like that.

_Or it seemed like that._

She put the notebook back, and walked to the saloon, thankful nobody could see her wiping her eyes with the back of her wrists. That thought hurt her the most in the end; that he was so good at hiding back then, that it was all a front and that in the meanwhile he’d been worn down enough to not be able to put it up anymore. For a moment, she really wished she could bring him peace. But then, she remembered Marnie’s niece. How many times she must have seen him disheveled on the floor. How many times she probably asked herself if that was her fault, and why that was her situation. She remembered another little girl that had been in that position.  
  
She wanted to stay away from this. Stay away from him, and the girl, and Marnie, too. She simply couldn’t be impartial anymore. _  
  
_Sure enough, 1pm on a Saturday afternoon, Shane was at his usual spot at the bar, and seemed to have been staring at the door, waiting for her arrival, as they met eyes the moment she stepped in. She felt her heart rate go up rapidly the moment she saw him, her throat tightening. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to be sick or if she wanted to cry, or if it was the words she wanted to say to him lodged in her throat. She would have turned around on her heels and left if the bartender’s back was turned to the door. But it wasn’t, so she approached the bar, trying with all her might to appear nonchalant and unbothered while trying to push him out of her peripheral vision.  
  
Shane was on his first beer of the day. He wasn’t drunk; it took 4 to 5 mugs to get him drunk and a full 6 pack of cans would get him mostly tipsy. He’d do people watching when he wasn’t shitfaced; mainly to distract himself through placing judgment upon others the way he felt they did to him. Gus was a blank sheet; he couldn’t figure out what was going on in his head as he went about preparing the appliances for later. But the other attendant of the bar at the time was fresh material to keep him distracted from the usual chatter in his brain; just what he desperately needed.  
  
He looked at the farmer, with her full face of makeup -subtle, yet full face. She had enough money to spend on makeup he presumed was budgeproof but had only ordered a measly plate of spaghetti to go. What _dumb_ priorities for a farmer. She looked solemn and worn out. The farming life wasn’t easy, and by looking at her for the briefest moment her first night in town, the cynical side of his brain decided that she’d be out of business before the end of spring. But farmer had made money for a coop and four chicks; a respectable capital of several thousand dollars out of the 500 disposed to her from the town’s agricultural fund. He’d overheard Lewis, who always joked about anyone who had inherited his old friend’s farm coming back to actually work the land, say that he was sad he had been ‘redistributing’ the funds to ‘other problem areas of the town’, leaving _“that poor clueless girl”_ with no real headstart. So why would she be frowning like that? If he’d done it, he’d be celebrating.  
  
He scoffed. _What a ridiculous thought._ He could never do that well.  
  
City girl even had a tattoo, he noticed. It was partially covered by the strap of her tank top, but he could make it out; it was Eeyore on her right shoulder blade. He snarled around the rim of the beer glass. Who would be dumb enough to go and get a depressed cartoon donkey as a tattoo?  
  
His last sip of beer didn’t manage to go down his throat the way he wanted it to. As he choked on air, he realized the epiphany his brain had reached; he knew one person dumb enough to go and get such ink on them. A wonderfully dumb person.  
  
_Old man Nicholas had only one grandchild.  
  
_She winced at the sound of his cough. She didn’t turn around to look; if possible, she got oddly interested in examining whatever was on the left wall of the room. _  
  
_Old man Nicholas’ granddaughter, as Shane remembered her, was the number one candidate to get an office job -good paying, with her smarts-, and maintain it until the state redeemed her old enough to be a pensioner or she died -whichever came first. CC, that’s what the old man called her, and that’s what he’d called her, too.  
  
CC was chubby, round faced, with thin, mousy hair in a pixie cut. Her bangs stuck at her oily forehead, and yet she’d given up on overscrubbing her slightly acne ridden face. She hated makeup with a passion, and dressed mostly in well ironed sweatpants and monochromatic tshirts, but she was always clean and smelled of good perfume. She always wore a good pair of clean running shoes even though he never saw her jog that summer. But she walked a lot; she walked with him, so, so many times in the span of one month. She was book smart to a T, and seemed to have a basic understanding of the world around her, but chose to distance herself from it. She’d laugh at corny dad jokes and listen for days. She didn’t have much to say. Accountants were boring like that, she said; she was studying Economics but she knew she wouldn’t work in academia so she aimed to be an accountant; stable, and easy, _to have a life,_ she said, bitterly, as if she knew she wasn’t the person to have much of that.

Callie, on the other hand, was thin -skinny fat, but he couldn’t see that-, with long red hair -a color teethering the edge of natural now that part of it was washed away- always in a horribly shaped bun. She wore dungarees or tank tops with comfortable jeans and had her winged eyeliner and nude lips drawn to perfection. He wanted to scoff loudly; Lewis thought of _this_ girl as clueless? She was hardworking and still smart, and apparently willing to put up with things she’d hated -she thought chickens were stupid and could do nothing but peck from what he remembered _,_ which in retrospect made him the tiniest bit angry. As much as her work ethic seemed to not have changed, her mannerisms seemed so different to him -contrary to how she viewed herself- that the only thing connecting them apparently was the dumb Eeyore tattoo. CC always seemed to genuinely experiense her emotions; Callie looked stiff to him, both when she made her confident entrance the first time in the saloon and in her current, slouching form.  
  
She took the packet from Gus with gratitude, and greeted Emily sweetly and confidently with small talk when the latter entered the saloon on Callie’s way out. But she didn’t turn around to look at him, not once. She granted him his wish, but now, in his near-sobriety, that hurt him more than he’d like to admit. He wondered, had he really changed that much that she seemed to not recognize him? A much more solemn expression spread its way across his tired face when thinking of that. _Of course_ _I_ _ha_ _ve_ _._ And he knew that his overweight, beer gut bearing form was not as stark a contrast to his old, athletic body as the way he carried himself nowadays was compared to way back then. It didn’t cross his mind for a second that she was actively avoiding him exactly because she had recognized him, and anyone who had the vaguest of knowledge on how quickly Shane jumped to conclusions could tell it was for the better.  
  
That day, he drunk for as many hours as in his work shift, as if mourning his 25 year old self and every aspect of that person that was not a part of him anymore. That day, she spent over old journals, sad at how some things hadn’t changed at all and how some others had changed completely, for what it seemed was the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! I had a lot of deadlines over the past two months and this chapter didn't seem to sit quite right with me -so does the draft of the next one, too- but in the end I'm quite pleased with how it came out after a good revision. I think the next one will come out a little bit quicker than this one did.
> 
> Thank you to anyone who still remembers this and to anyone who has ever taken some time to take a peek!

**Author's Note:**

> The thread as a counterpart to the bouquet was inspired by a trend I've seen in a few weddings I've attended; in each guest table at the reception, there was something hidden in the napkin of one of the guests. The guest who found that got to keep the decoration of the table (an ornament of sorts). In one of those weddings, it was a thread hidden underneath the lucky guest's plate. I thought it would make another fun Valley tradition. 
> 
> Again, thank you for your time!


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